Making a Mess
by rocaw
Summary: Despite Bruce's expectations - and best intentions - after everything that has happened, he is not alone. Set after The Dark Knight. Batman/Catwoman
1. Three Weeks Later

**ETA 08.01.12- Given the story told in _The Dark Knight Rises_, this is very much AU, I think. ;) I did make a few small edits to better fit the awesome Catwoman Anne Hathaway gave us though!**

Title: Making a Mess  
Characters: Catwoman, Batman  
Disclaimer: DC Comics and Warner Bros own.  
AN: There might be more to this later, but for now here's a Batman/Catwoman oneshot in Nolanverse.

* * *

She was so tired. More tired than she'd been in a long time. She could hardly move her right arm and the pain shooting from the gunshot wound in her leg was nearly unbearable. It hurt too much to stand and as she leaned against a rather large rooftop AC unit for support, she collapsed slowly to the ground. The noiseless thud sent a jolt of pain through her body and it took all her focus to keep from screaming.

She's not sure how long she blinked in and out of consciousness and would have worried that the pain was fading fast, but she figured her life had been a fucked up one since the beginning, it only made sense that she'd have a fucked up death as well. Funny thing though, she didn't see her life flash before her eyes like she always heard about and expected. She didn't see the night she lost her mom and her sister. She didn't see the day she finally built enough courage to run away from the orphanage. And she didn't see the day Leslie found her and took her in. All she could see was the gun pointed at _him_ and the way she stupidly jumped to push him out of the way. Her eyes fell shut again, just for a moment…

Thunder struck and she was startled awake. She was pretty sure her body was in shock because the pain seemed very far away now. Maybe she should try to stand and find some cover to get out of the sudden downpour of rain. When she looked up; the cold drops of water barely registered against her numb skin. Taking a deep breath, she put most of her weight on her uninjured leg and with the AC unit's help, managed to stand.

She glanced around at all the buildings before her and for the first time since she put the mask on, all the rooftops looked uninviting and even a little daunting. Perhaps she had outlived her short welcome. Perhaps it was time to simply lay down on the rooftop and fall asleep. Just a while. Allowing her body to give in like it wanted to and rest for a bit sounded like a _really_ good idea. Giving up was always so easy…

That's when she happened to glance sideways and noticed…_him_. He blended in near flawlessly with shadows, but she knew he was there. And hell if she was going to wait around to see what mood he was in at the moment. If she broke into highly secured buildings, he was pissed. When she tried to _help _him, he was pissed. Screw him. She tried to walk and dragged her injured leg behind her. Spotting the fire escape she somehow missed before, she tried to get to it before he arrived.

Within seconds, he landed a few feet behind her.

"You're injured," he gritted out.

She scoffed, not bothering to turn towards him, "And you are a master at stating the obvious."

He furrowed his brow, but didn't reply. He seemed unable or unwilling to find an accusation or reprimand to throw at her. He didn't even have a lecture to offer. She turned to look at him just to reassure herself that it was in fact him.

He wasn't scowling or frowning. He looked…worried. Concerned. About her. She wished her leg didn't hurt so much. She'd kick him just to swipe that pitiful look away.

"You need help," he said, the low growl almost lost to the falling rain.

"Not yours, I don't," she shot back, confident that she could get off this damn rooftop on her own. There was a painful throbbing through her leg again, but hell if she was going to let it show. When she moved forward, she stumbled. Batman was next to her in the time between heartbeats, careful of her injuries. His arms steady and strong, keeping her upright.

"Let go of me!" she snapped, brown eyes ablaze with rage, both with herself for suddenly being unable to walk on her own and with him for being there to catch her.

He ignored her protest, his gaze glued to her thigh and the blood streaming from it. She wasn't supposed to get hurt. He wouldn't have left an obvious trail for her to follow if…if…if what? How is stepping into the lion's den ever not a dangerous endeavor? He _knew_ this. He knew neither one might make it out alive. And yet…he _wanted_ her there…felt better knowing she was there.

"You…saved my life tonight…" he admitted, "…I…have…"

It must have been the loss of blood because she could have sworn he was thanking her. Could've been she imagined it, too. There was no way to be sure. The buildings seemed to swirl and twirl together and then it was dark.

…

Opening her eyes to a bright, white room filled her with dread. She tried to sit up, but the restraints kept her in place.

"What the—?"

"You're safe."

It was him. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse. She _was_ relieved that her mask was still on, though. Her eyes traveled around the room, instinct searching for a way out.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice hoarse. How long had she been out?

"A safe house," he replied.

She was lying on her back and tried looking down. She could see the pointy ears of his cowl between…her legs?

"What're you doing?" she asked, trying to get up again.

"The bullet was still in your leg when I brought you here. It's not anymore."

"Can you untie me now?" She laughed at her words and the ludicrous situation. Hadn't she wondered how he'd react to being the one tied up? She shook the thoughts away.

He walked over and removed the restraints from her wrists, chest, and waist.

"Wanted to make sure I wasn't going anywhere?"

He grunted in reply, making her smile. He was back to being his usual _un_talkative self. She preferred him that way. Taking in the room, she decided the room looked like a very clean doctor's office. Even Leslie's office wasn't like this. Batman walked towards a counter and he seemed very out of place in such a well lit room. Hell, she probably looked just as ridiculous. Black leather, titanium, and masks worked better in the dark.

She sat up fully and realized she wasn't wearing any pants.

"What did y—?"

He flung the remains of what used to be leather pants at her. The bastard _cut_ them off!

"Here," he threw the medical tape at her, "Tape it up and you're done."

She narrowed her eyes at him, not failing to notice that he'd kept his back to her since she'd woken up. "My pants are ruined because of you. The least you could do is _finish_ what _you_ started."

His shoulders tensed as he seemed to weigh his options.

"Don't worry," she teased, red lips curling up, "I won't bite. Unless you ask nicely…"

"Lie down," he ordered.

She laughed at him, "Whatever. Look, I won't overpower you and take your mask off, okay? You left mine on, right? We're even," her voice softened.

He moved without looking up at her, crouching down between her legs. He angled his head, so she only saw the top of his cowl.

He wasn't wearing any gauntlets and she studied his hands freely. They were large and softer looking than she imagined. They barely grazed her thigh as they worked on the bullet wound.

She reached out and touched his cape.

His hands stilled.

Panic gripped his heart. He shouldn't have put himself in this position. Then, he reminded himself, he shouldn't have put _her_ in such a precarious position to begin with. She wouldn't have had such a close call. And neither would he be having one now. But he was ready to fight her. He was ready to exploit her wounded leg in order to keep his secret.

"It's okay," she reassured, not going for his mask like he assumed she would, "You're safe." She repeated his earlier words to him.

He looked up at her. His hazel-blue eyes, wide and at a loss.

She trailed a finger along his jaw — she'd wanted to do that since she saw him that first night — marveling at the subtle changes of his eyes. She could have sworn they were usually a hard, cold blue, but now, they looked softer…warmer...

She leaned down, lips barely grazing his, the sudden pain in her thigh not thwarting her actions in the least. His lips were cold, as she discovered was the rest of his face when she splayed her fingers on either side.

He closed his eyes, but didn't move otherwise. His hands itched to rest on her and touch her, _really _touch her, but he was waiting for something. He didn't know what, until those legs pulled him in closer and wrapped around his torso. Her knees under his arms, her ankles just below his belt. He exhaled slowly, lips parting, and he reached up to kiss her. Lips so soft and welcoming…like he dreamed of so often… But the rest of her he couldn't feel. He still wore all the armor that usually protected him, except now it was in the way. But maybe that was a good thing.

"Wait," he said, standing up.

"We've waited long enough," she reminded him, stood up on one leg, and pulled him in for a searing kiss.

It had only been three weeks that they had known each other and yet it felt like they'd been fighting for years. Fighting each other and within themselves, fighting a growing attraction that could no longer be ignored.

He felt dizzy and lightheaded, his body moving against hers in a primal rhythm. His hands quickly found that glorious swell of flesh just south of her lower back and he scooped her up. Strong, smooth legs wrapped around him.

The heat in her breasts and belly grew exponentially out of control. She kissed and bit along his jaw wanting to kiss and bite every part of him. She moaned—half pleasure, half protest—as her back hit the wall_._ He wanted to rip off her top and her mask. He wanted nothing between them. Just the two of them. Nothing else.

That's when he reached for the switch and turned off the lights. Apparently, sometime over the past few weeks, he'd lost his mind completely. He knew this because as he threw off his cowl his concern wasn't whether she would reach for the switch and expose him, but how fast he could get back to kissing her again.

She ran her fingers through his hair, breaking the kiss to whisper in his ear.

"More," she panted and he knew what she meant.

He pressed her against the wall, kissing the suddenly bare curve of her neck and shoulder. God, she tasted like a dark kind of heaven — the most tempting of sins — and he knew he was going mad because he couldn't get enough of her.

She couldn't get enough of him either, tugging on his cape wanting it gone as he trailed hot circles down her body.

The room was getting warmer and he wanted to rip off his suit. Three quick moves later and he peeled it off. She pulled at it too, impatience getting the best of her. Then her legs wrapped tightly around him once more, the pain from her injury only adding to the mix of emotions she was feeling. One of his arms went securely around her waist, pulling her in close now that there was little to nothing between their bodies.

It was only then that she removed her own mask. Unwilling until that moment to truly believe he wouldn't back down. With the mask fell the last of her restraint, her hips grinding desperately against his. Her hair fell over her shoulders and he buried his nose in it. The deep, rich scent of her driving him further into reckless abandon.

He couldn't remember a time he felt more lost, more overwhelmed or out of control. He slid the thin fabric of her panties aside and pushed into her slowly. His mind went blank. She was all there was, all there ever would be. Her lips on his shoulder, moving towards his neck. Her fingers running through his hair. Her breasts bouncing lightly against his chest with every thrust. Her ankles digging gently into the back of his thighs, pulling him in closer…deeper… She was all he knew and all he wanted to know.

His hands slid up from her hips to her waist and he kissed her, deeply.

The warmth of his hands was everywhere, his body sliding against hers…

He didn't want the feeling to end…

She was so close, the buildup coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. God, she couldn't remember the last time she felt this good.

Sheer pleasure washed over them, slight trembles of satisfaction followed. And then, it was over. Their breath came ragged, the panting ceasing slowly.

The pain of her leg came back in sharp spurts and she was sure she'd torn a few stitches. She didn't want to move, but did, bringing her legs down away from his waist. Despite the darkness she closed her eyes, wanting to bury her head in his shoulder if only they had been other people; instead she let it fall back against the wall, convinced that she might have just made the stupidest mistake ever.

He had yet to move. His hands were still on her and he took deep breaths trying to buy time to figure out what to do next. He was relieved when she slid off and away from him.

She wanted to say something, tease him, rate his performance, _anything_ because despite the mess she made of things afterward, he probably saved her life. But, she didn't trust her voice enough to speak, so she said nothing as she picked up her mask and the remains of her tattered clothes scattered around.

Still, he found himself unable to move. He could hear her dressing, her movements slow because of her injuries. He wanted to help her, but those were things couples did for each other after they finished. And that's not what they were. They'd crossed a line and he was afraid things would never go back to what they had been. He was even more afraid they would. Still, he didn't offer to help unwilling to risk more of himself than he already had. So, he was stuck to the spot that only minutes ago, he and she had… where they had… Having been with so many women wasn't helping him at all because they hadn't mattered; some had been mere props. Slept with because he knew they would talk. He rarely saw them again unless Bruce Wayne needed the publicity, but she…she was Catwoman. They were bound to run into each other the following night or the next. She had saved his life and he repaid her by taking advantage of her fragile state.

She stumbled across his cape and considered borrowing it, if only to make him ask for its return. She could almost picture his irritated expression at having to do so, but settled against it choosing simply to tie her pants around her waist. They barely covered her, but it was hardly a problem. When had she been modest anyway?

Turning to him, she wondered if he was ever going to move again. That's when it happened. Like a whisper, a soft caress, it grew in the back of her mind. She wasn't wearing her _mask _and neither was he. Curiosity began to grow. She was tempted to turn on the light. Have it all out in the open. Her identity… _His_… Everything revealed with the simple flip of a switch.

But she didn't do it. Whatever _this_ was — and she didn't want to delve too deep into it — she wasn't ready to throw it away just yet. She found the door and opened it, stopping midway. Had she bothered to look at him with the dim light from the outside entering the room, she would have seen the silhouette of his perfect body with his head downcast, but she didn't look back.

"Maybe next time I'll buy you dinner first," she said and closed the door behind her.


	2. It Happened One Night

Title: Making a Mess  
Chapter 2: It Happened One Night  
Characters: Batman, Catwoman, Commissioner Gordon  
Disclaimer: DC Comics and Warner Bros own.  
AN: Because the bunny was so insistent and I can never say no to Bruce/Selina...

* * *

_Three Weeks Earlier_

Batman continued fighting the evils of his city. Monsters and common criminals alike. No one was exempt; everyone who broke the law paid the price. At roughly the same time, the police increased the manpower assigned to arrest him. Speaking to Gordon instantly became more difficult. The nights were long and tough, but he managed and kept up his daytime façade as well. Alfred and Lucius stood by his side, but he'd never felt more alone than in those days. When he grew too tired to even stand, so exhausted of what his life had become, he thought of Rachel's last moments. He thought of his father's last words. He thought of what could have been had fate not intervened.

But he realized fate and destiny had never been on his side. Together, they laughed and mocked him, always taking that which he loved most, leaving him alone. All that was left now was his city. But even that, fate and destiny tried to pry away by throwing so many colorful, deadly threats his way - Joker was still out there, Scarecrow was likely looking to escape again, and there was a new one riddling his city with trouble and death.

The loyalty, the determination to save at least one thing he loved grew and turned into an all-consuming devotion to Gotham and her alone. It was all that remained of the life he had once desired. It was all he could still have.

But this world he chose to lock himself in was rattled one dark and cold night by someone who tried to steal him out of it.

...

Sunrise was only a few hours away. Batman was ready to end patrol and head back to the cave so Alfred could administer his ever increasing expertise to the latest injuries he received when he caught the subtle movements of a figure scurrying across Wayne Enterprise's Tech Division's rooftop. He swooped down for a closer look.

Upon further inspection, he discovered he had a front row seat to someone attempting to break into one of the several buildings he owned. To keep from warning the thief of his presence he continued the rest of the way cautiously in silence.

"What do you think you're doing?" Batman growled, but the menace his voice once carried was lacking and it sounded tired even to his own ears.

That's when the burglar turned around and Batman almost stepped back realizing the thief looked nothing like he had expected. First, it was most definitely a _she_. Second, she wore a mask hiding the upper half of her face and had what looked like ears at the top of her head. Third, she was giving him the most disarming smile, one he wasn't sure even Bruce Wayne might have been able to counteract. Or resist.

"It's not safe for you to be out," she warned, though there was a hint of teasing he caught. Her voice was alluring and rich, like the most decadent of chocolates. She smiled at him, "There are cops all over the place, you know."

When he didn't say anything she shrugged and turned back to the door she had been working on. That's when he noticed the tail…

"Stop," he ordered when he'd manage to get control of his voice again.

She sighed in irritation and spun ever so slowly to face him, "What?"

_What?_ he thought, did she not see the cape and cowl? Did she not understand he was there to _stop_ her?

"Look, _Batman_," her tone was mocking, "I don't go interrupting your killing sprees, now do I?" She took the few wary steps necessary to close the distance between them, "Why are you bothering me when _I'm_ working?"

When he didn't reply, she narrowed her eyes. Hmmm. Maybe this wasn't the real Batman. Just one of those fakes that popped up every once in a while. Wasn't Batman supposed to be ruthless? A killer? He'd murdered all those cops, hadn't he? And here she was talking to him like he was any other person. She should have been afraid, but for some reason she wasn't.

Moving closer to him she stared up into his eyes, along his jaw, and finally settled her gaze on his lips. He could have been anything but handsome under that mask, but she had to admit, it gave him an air of mystery…danger… She licked her bottom lip wondering if maybe something other than words was required to get a reaction out of him.

...

Batman was stunned. Stupefied for the first time in a long time. He thought he was aware of the repercussions of his plan: Gordon agreeing to go along with his idea of placing the blame entirely on himself instead of Dent. He knew the police would redouble their efforts to ensure his capture, but he had failed to consider what the other side would think. He had not expected one belonging to the criminal element would actually see him as one of their own.

Up to date, none had. But for some reason this thief assumed he would simply let her continue stealing? It was almost too much.

No one had spoken to him like she had either. Without fear or awe. Without any...respect. And now she was simply staring at him. Her deep, brown eyes up to something, he was sure.

"You the _real_ thing?" she asked and looked up at him with a curious expression. She reminded him of a cat when she tilted her face to his.

He didn't see any weapons at her immediate disposal, but most of his were hidden away from view, as well. She bit her lip then and he became enthralled by the reddest of lips.

She moved closer into his personal space, she couldn't help herself. A half-smile graced her face as she leaned up towards him. He was less than a breath away. Then, that noise came out of nowhere.

She heard the helicopter before she saw it. He seemed to have heard it as well. They pulled away and searched the sky. The street below was too quiet. No sirens. Nothing could be heard beside the propelling rotors.

She stared up at the man who only a few minutes ago she had decided was worth… it didn't matter. "_You_," she suspected, "You did this, didn't you?"

She stepped back, slipping further away from his grasp.

The door she had been trying to unlock suddenly burst open. The Commissioner himself stood there, his eyes wide as he looked between the masked figures.

She turned to Batman, finally understanding. Her voice was accusing, but barely above a whisper, "You're still one of _them_, aren't you?"

Gordon caught Batman's eye and the vigilante instantly understood its significance. The thief must have set off an alarm to alert them and the police were on their way. Gordon was warning him the only way he could, with his presence free of the rest of the department. Batman looked from Gordon to the thief. If anyone else from the GCPD saw him there, they would be forced to pursue him and there would be nothing the Commissioner could do. Suspicion as to why the Commissioner was at the scene might also arise.

Still, Batman hesitated. Struggling with what to say, he caught the thief's eye. There was no way he could warn her. That would mean betraying Gordon's trust. Besides, he didn't owe her a thing — she was a thief, after all. And yet, he felt responsible for her predicament, which he knew to be foolish because he had initially showed up to stop her. The quietly intense moment they shared shouldn't matter. Yet somehow, it did.

He glanced back at Gordon, the worry evident on the older man's face. Every breath the Commissioner took was a silent plea asking him to leave, to escape while he still had the chance.

The helicopter was getting louder, closer. It was a matter of seconds before Batman ran out time. Warn the thief or listen to Gordon.

The thief.

Gordon.

An instant before the lights flashed on the rooftop, Batman jumped off. He was almost ashamed that it took him so long to decide. If he had waited a moment longer, it would have been too late. All of his and Gordon's carefully laid plans to save Gotham would have been undone.

"Don't move!" The booming voice from the helicopter loudspeaker assured her, "You are surrounded!"

She didn't shield her eyes from the immensely bright lights like she wanted to; instead, she turned to Commissioner Gordon and smiled like she didn't have a care in the world, like she wasn't about to be arrested or put away for an endless amount of years for being a costumed criminal, like she hadn't just been betrayed by a man she knew nothing about and decided to trust for some strange and obviously stupid reason.

"Put your hands up!" the loudspeaker instructed, but she ignored it and took a step towards the edge.

"Wait!" Gordon held his free hand up. The other, clutching his gun, was pointing down and away.

"Next time you see the Bat…" she grinned at him like she knew all there was to know. There was nothing friendly about it. Instead, she held a rather bloodthirsty twist in her expression, "Tell him, I always get even."

"Who are you?" Gordon asked, unable to understand why she would dress up like a cat. Or why it bothered him so much.

She laughed at him and unfurled a whip wrapped around her waist he had failed to detect, or rather, mistook for a tail. Her expression changed — darkened considerably— as she spoke. "Now, why would I want to make it easy on the _two_ of you?"

Quickly, Gordon looked over his shoulder behind him to make sure no one had come up and overheard what she said. When he turned back to the thief, she was gone.

…

Commissioner Gordon walked past a small group of officers who had been huddled around the television watching the latest on the attempted break-in at Wayne Enterprises and scurried back to their stations upon seeing him. Only a young patrolman had been working diligently at his desk. Without a word to any of them, Gordon continued into his office. Though he should have been used to it by now, he was more than a little surprised to find Batman waiting.

"Did she get away?"

"This time," Batman replied.

Gordon sighed. "Yes, well, I think we underestimated her. Who knew there was more than one of you who liked to jump off buildings?" He shrugged and removed his glasses, taking a moment to massage the bridge of his nose and prepare himself. "Oh," he said casually as if he had only just remembered, but he had to school his expression and readied his voice, "After you left, she eagerly informed me she always gets even."

Patiently, Gordon waited for a reaction though he knew he wasn't likely to get one. Nearly resigned, he took a seat behind his desk. He tried one more time because all night he'd been unable to shake the lingering feeling that something else beside Batman attempting to stop a thief had taken place on that rooftop. Knowing it was of little use, he asked anyway. "Anything more to the threat than the obvious?"

"I'll look into it," Batman replied and was halfway out the window when he turned back, "Thank you for the warning... Jim."

Before Gordon had a chance to reply, Batman had slipped back into the night.


	3. Ends and Beginnings

Title: Making a Mess  
Chapter 3: Ends and Beginnings  
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Lucius Fox, Alfred Pennyworth, Leslie Thompkins, Selina Kyle, and…  
Disclaimer: DC Comics and Warner Bros own.  
AN: This has slowly turned into my bid for Batman 3! ;)

* * *

She paced through her small apartment. She had come this close to getting caught. _This close_. On her first night back in Gotham no less. All for some equipment she didn't need, but could've used. All because she wanted to know _if_ it could be done. If _she_ could pull it off.

And though she knew it wasn't entirely _his_ fault, she couldn't help blame him. After all, he could have played nice. He could have given her a chance like the one she gave him. But he'd thrown her under the bus. Set her up like some amateur!

Well, turnabout was fair play. She told the Commissioner she always got even and this time would be no exception. But the night was over and she would have to wait until another time to get the Batman. Because despite being a thief, she always kept her word. When it was convenient, of course.

…

On mornings like these, Bruce had made a bad habit of thinking back to that one day…

_It had been sunny and bright. Most people would have said it was a lovely day, but Bruce was not most people. He wished it could have been cloudy or raining, miserable or something closer to how he felt._

_He had been dreading the day, hated how it represented something so final._

_Alfred arranged everything for Rachel's funeral. The coffin was empty, save some of her personal belongings, but her mother was grateful for the show of affection from the man who had once been Rachel's closest childhood friend._

_When Bruce paid his respects, she thanked him, "You didn't have to and you did, thank you. Rachel always believed in you and said you were making your parents proud. I wasn't sure I understood her then, but now I see that you do it through generous acts like this that tend to go unnoticed."_

_The kind words were like knives to his heart. Would she have felt the same if she knew he was responsible for Rachel's death? Would she have taken his hand and embraced him with such affection then? Bruce tried to wait with the rest of the mourners after those kind words, but slipped away quickly when the guilt and shame grew unbearable. No one would bear witness to the tears he shed. They were his burden, his price to pay for not being enough, for failing, yet again._

_Following the ceremony, Bruce returned to his office to find Lucius standing near the window looking out._

"_You're not supposed to be here, Mr. Wayne," the CEO said half in jest, half in reproof. He had hoped Bruce would take a few days off after the death of his friend and the ordeal Batman had just experienced, but the man was too stubborn for his own good._

"_And, yet, you're waiting for me in my office, Mr. Fox," Bruce smirked, glad that Lucius had decided to stay after the destruction of the sonar machine. He was grateful that not everything had changed over the last few days._

"_I'm afraid I have bad news."_

_Bruce's smirk disappeared, concern immediately took its place, "What is it?" he asked, his voice growing quiet._

"_Coleman Reese has been murdered."_

_Another death._

_Another failure._

"_The accountant…"_

"_Who threatened to go public?" Lucius nodded slowly, "The very one."_

"_How? When?" Bruce took the seat behind his desk to turn __on __the computer._

"_Mr. Wayne," Fox spoke gently and waited for Bruce to look at him, "The public hasn't been informed and I only told you because it doesn't appear he had any family. There were no contacts listed on his employee file. I was called last night to identify the body."_

_Bruce stopped typing and waited for Lucius to continue._

"_I am aware of what he intended to do to you and this company, but I hoped you would grant me the authority to make arrangements."_

"_Of course, Mr. Fox. Do everything necessary for Mr. Reese and any family that might turn up."_

"_I will, Mr. Wayne, thank you," Lucius headed to the door. He turned the doorknob to leave, but on second thought released it and looked over at the man sitting behind the desk, "One more thing, if I may?"_

_Hazel-blue eyes looked up at him again._

"_You are allowed a bereavement period, Bruce. It might be wise to use it."_

...

Rachel's funeral and the death of Mr. Reese happened relatively six weeks to the day.

Bruce sat on the edge of his bed, mind exhausted, body aching. He glanced over at the clock to verify the time. It was far too early. It would be hours before he could go out where it was easier to ignore the pain…the guilt…where he could ignore _everything_ except the mission.

...

Bruce was not the only one remembering. Across town, another man relived a troubling day.

He wasn't sure why he watched the tape over and over again. No, that wasn't true. He did know. He replayed it again and again because it never failed that he felt better after doing so.

The tape was already inside the old VCR and he pressed play. He watched the screen in growing anger and disgust. Little, aside from the name, was said about the funeral being attended or the man being laid to rest. Every camera was on Bruce Wayne. On _his_ expensive suit and _his_ expensive dark glasses and _his_ expensive shoes. Useless details.

He jumped up unable to sit and watch anymore. He'd been feeling anxious and this time, the video did not have the same calming effect. Out of frustration, he kicked the television ignoring the crash and smoke that followed. He put his coat on, grabbed the hat hanging near the door, and left. It was time to do more than sit back and watch. It was time to act.

And no one would be able to do it better than he.

...

Bruce tried not to count down the hours. It was a wasteful endeavor. Still, he looked forward to sunset. Wished it could be as dark out there as he felt inside. Just as cold and bleak.

The large computer screen hummed quietly. All the information on the three recent killings was there, staring at him. Taunting him. He just had to figure out how to fit the evidence together to make sense of it. Every bit of information like puzzle pieces scattered on a table just waiting for someone to set them into one giant picture that would reveal it all.

He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. A few bats cried overhead.

"Perhaps, taking a step back to clear your mind might help, sir," Alfred suggested. He placed the small silver tray down next to Bruce's left hand.

"I'm not hungry, Alfred."

"Of course, Master Wayne, but it has been 49 hours since you last had anything to eat and 68 hours since you left the cave for anything other than patrol. It is time you did both."

Bruce could have attempted to argue, but by Alfred's stern tone and unwavering stance, he knew there was no point in trying. He would be made to leave the cave one way or other and soon.

"Besides," Alfred's usual tone returned, "You, sir, have a hall full of guests upstairs."

"What?" Bruce asked incredulously. The grand celebration planned to commemorate the complete rebuilding of the Manor was still days away, wasn't it? "It can't be Saturday."

"Oh, but it is, Master Wayne. A lot has happened in a short amount of time and you have been down here too long," Alfred's lips barely turned up at the corners. "Your guests await."

...

"The place looks _fabulous_, Bruce!"

"One could hardly tell it all burned down only months ago!"

"Who's your decorator? I _must_ have him!"

Bruce forced a smile through all the ass-kissing praise. There might have been a genuine remark or two among them, but his mind kept going over the facts of the three cases waiting for him downstairs and he couldn't bring himself to care about useless words.

"Bruce?"

He turned. Finally, a friendly face.

"Leslie," he embraced the good doctor. She had made another effort to get in touch with him after Rachel's death. At first, he continued to push her away like he had after he lost his parents, but this time, she did not give up. He was grateful for it. "I'm glad you could make it."

"As am I," she smiled and placed her hand on his forearm, "How have you been?" she asked, not bothering to hide the concern in her voice.

"Fine," he lied, even managed a believable enough smile to go with it, "You? Alfred tells me the clinic's running better than ever."

"It is. Due to all your recent contributions, of course," she replied, then looked around. "I was hoping to introduce you to a friend of mine that recently returned from Rome. Where did she go?"

Bruce knew that if Leslie had been hanging around Alfred again, it was certain they were up to no good. And bringing a friend along? Definitely Alfred's idea. They meant well, but he didn't have time for it.

"Don't worry, I'm sure I'll find her," Bruce winked and walked off.

After tossing the contents of his flute of champagne into a vase or plant somewhere, he grabbed another one and headed out to the balcony.

The manor — his home — looked the same and yet it was so different. Wrong in many ways. Rachel had never set foot on this expensive tile. She had never walked these rooms or hid among this furniture waiting for him to find her… She had always been so good at finding _him._

Everything that could be replaced was exactly where it had been. At least everything anyone other than Alfred or he would ever see. However, the walls and hallways didn't have the same feel — of his father, of his mother, of Rachel — that the place possessed before. He missed that old essence the manor once held. It felt very much like it was _his_ place now and he hated it.

When he stepped through the archway, he noticed the woman leaning against the railing looking out. He didn't move for about a minute, wondering if he should interrupt her solitude or return to the den of wolves.

"I think this balcony's big enough for two," she announced, still looking out at his estate. Her long black dress — or was it navy? He couldn't distinguish the color in the moonlight — blew gently in the passing breeze.

Bruce stepped forward.

"Didn't want… to disturb you…" he slurred his words purposefully, just in case.

"Too late. You think any _sane_ person would come to one of these…_things_…" she waved her hand in the air, then looked over her shoulder at him. Her full lips curved into a smile when she realized who she was speaking to. If she was embarrassed to have said such a thing to him, she didn't show it. She only laughed.

It was a pleasant laugh and he chuckled to keep up his charade.

But he wasn't insulted. He was actually kind of relieved not to get a lengthy apology for her faux pas. He reached the railing and leaned sideways against it in order to face her, "Are you saying one must be insane to attend one of my parties, Ms…?"

She ignored his request for a name, "No," she shook her head, surprised by the amusement in his voice. She had expected angry words, or at the very least a polite request to leave, "All I'm saying is I'm sure it helps if you are."

Bruce's gaze travelled back into the hall and towards his guests. She was right. He chuckled genuinely for what seemed like the first time in a long time.

...

He watched both families from his corner booth and waited for his soup to arrive. Both were similar in every way, it seemed. The family on the right was made up of four blondes. The one on the left — which would turn out to be the Douglass family — had two small red-headed children. The parents were both brunettes.

He took a bite of a stale breadstick and chewed slowly, watching them all the while.

...

Bruce watched her face, knew it from somewhere…

"However, I must confess," she continued, leaning to her side to face him, "This is solely based on _my_ time spent at your parties."

"Oh, and how many would that be?" he asked, taking a tiny sip of his champagne. She might notice otherwise. She had deep brown eyes and he knew he'd seen them before…

She leaned conspiratorially towards him, offering a generous view of her low-scoop neckline, "This is my first one."

...

The soda in a dirty cup was flat and he requested another. The waitress mumbled as she walked away.

When the youngest red-head dropped his spoon earning him a quick swat to the head, the choice was made for him. He smiled to himself and began to eat from the plate set down on his table. The blonde family got up and left, but his sole focus was on the one that remained. He ate his soup and planned on the best and most efficient way to kill them.

...

"That would explain why I've never had the pleasure," Bruce winked and 'accidentally' dropped the rest of his champagne over the railing, along with the flute. He _knew_ her…

"How many of those do you lose at each event?" she asked raising an eyebrow. Somehow, he got the impression she wasn't simply teasing him.

He smiled at her regardless, "I've lost count."

Of course you have, she wanted to say, someone else simply buys more for you. But she kept the comment to herself. He continued smiling at her. Buying time, trying to place her, she assumed. It had taken her some time to place him and it wasn't until the moment he stood before her in his fancy tux that she knew for sure. She couldn't explain it — it had little to do with vanity, really — but it bothered her that _he_ didn't remember _her_.

"We met before," he said, then laughed, "That's not a line, I assure you."

She shook her head, "_We_ have not, no." His expression changed for a moment into something she couldn't read and then it was gone. "Selina Kyle," she continued, offering him her hand.

"Kyle…?" he whispered, taking her hand in his. He did know her.


	4. Second First Impressions, Part 1

**08.01.12- For some reason when I tried to edit this chapter, it stopped showing up, so I had to upload it again. =/ Many apologies.**

Title: Making a Mess  
Chapter 4: Second First Impressions, Part 1  
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Ted Grant, Selina Kyle  
Disclaimer: DC Comics and Warner Bros own.  
AN: Many thanks to chipsnopotatoes for looking this over! Also, there are a lot of flashbacks that take place during the earlier part of _Batman Begins_.

* * *

_It was the first place he sought after being thrown out of Falcone's underground establishment. The combination of humiliation, frustration, and revenge made him think of it. He remembered seeing the address on an ad in the newspaper once, a coupon had been attached. Bruce did not have any of that and the place might have closed since then, but he didn't care. After tossing his wallet and switching coats with the man trying to stay warm by a small fire, Bruce ran anyway._

_It was on a rundown street in the Narrows. Eerily quiet and dirtier than he was used to. No one was around except an old man vomiting in an alley. The Narrows was one place Bruce never expected to end up, but that was before Falcone took away his ability to avenge his parents' death._

_The gym was still there. It looked nothing like he expected, still he stepped inside. The place was small. Mirrors lined one wall and the ring in the middle took up most of the space in the room. There was a heavy bag, a speed bag, a few jump ropes hanging near the only window, and very little else. How could anyone learn anything there?_

"_You lost, kid?"_

_Bruce turned to the voice. He recognized the man instantly. The one-time Heavyweight Champion of the World — imposing as ever — looked back at him. Hands taped up, arms crossed over his chest, the man appeared ready to step into the ring at any given moment. A flash of recognition crossed the Champ's face, but Bruce was grateful he said nothing of having Gotham's most famous orphan in his gym._

"_I, uh, was hoping to train here," Bruce said, then added, "To learn how to box."_

_The Champ laughed._

"_Ya don't 'learn how to box,' kid," he snorted, "Ya wait and see if the sweet science _chooses_ ya. Lets ya pick it up, got it?"_

_Bruce swallowed, then nodded._

_Just being there, he felt better. Felt like doing something was the way to go. He wasn't sure exactly why he needed to do this, but he was sure he didn't want anyone else to know, so he took a few tentative steps towards the other man, "Is there any way to arrange _private_ lessons?"_

"_Sorry, kid," the Champ laughed again, "I don't swing that way, but I'm flattered. Tell ya what though, ya wanna see if ya got what it takes, follow me."_

_He turned and headed towards a metal door, opened it and stepped through._

_It took Bruce a second to consider his options. He looked away towards the only other door, the exit. He could walk out, finish college, and do all the other things people expected of him. Or he could stay and really _do_ something._

_Bruce chose to follow the one-time champion._

"_Sit down," the Champ ordered, pointing at the worn black, leather couch._

_Bruce took a seat, "I can pay you double for—"_

"_Ya think I'm doing this for the money?"_

_Bruce's lips thinned to a straight line, "I don't know."_

"_Look, ya don't wanna stand out, kid, then don't. That jacket's a good start, but ya wanna blend in? You'll have to do better. I'll be honest with ya. Most people around here ain't gonna notice ya. They're too busy trying to get through their day. But for those few looking for a quick, easy buck, yer a big, shiny target." He sat down on the edge of his desk and continued, "Now, about closing shop? Not many can afford to come here in the first place. Most of the kids that do, I don't even charge. So, it's a no can do, ya understand?"_

_Bruce frowned, "Yes."_

"_Good," the Champ smiled, "The kids call me Grant, Mr. Grant or Champ. Pick one, I don't really care. What matters is while yer here, ya do as I say when I say, got it?"_

"_Yes," Bruce replied, "But I…I don't have any gloves or equipment with me."_

"_Did I say ya needed any?"_

"_No, but I assumed—"_

"_Then don't worry about it." Grant stood then, "Day's been pretty slow. Ya ready to start now?"_

"_Now?" Bruce asked surprised._

_The Champ nodded his head and cracked his knuckles, "Now."_

…

_Trying to stand, body refusing, Bruce decided that a few minutes with his back to the mat, while embarrassing, was necessary._

"_Ah, c'mon, kid, don't tell me yer through for the night?"_

_His body ached as it never had before and he was starting to regret ever walking into Grant's Gym, but Bruce wasn't about to give up. Two quick breaths and he forced himself to sit up. A dull pain ran through his body and Bruce cursed under his breath. He managed to get to one knee when the door swung open. A cool gust of wind swirled through the gym and a girl with chocolate brown hair walked in. She glanced at him, then at the Champ, and she looked upset._

"_What the hell, Ted? You said _I _got to initiate all the rookies."_

_Grant didn't look at her, he seemed to be waiting for Bruce to stand if only to send him back down to the mat, "'S not my fault, Kyle. Ya weren't here to do it."_

"_Bullshit," she argued._

"_Hey!" Grant turned to face her fully giving Bruce a few extra moments to get up, "Not in my gym."_

"_Right. Sorry," she rolled her eyes, "I was simply expressing my frustration with the situation, sir. I am terribly upset that I did not get to pummel the new kid like I had been previously promised, sir," her brown eyes twinkled as she mock saluted and Bruce looked on in amusement._

"_Don'tcha get cute with me."_

_She shrugged a shoulder, "Fine, but don't finish him off yet. Gimme a minute to change and I'll do it!"_

_Before Bruce could fully stand, she was running in and out of the locker room and into the ring wearing all the necessary sparring gear._

"_Yer hands ain't taped up," Grant argued._

"_And his are?" she asked pointing at Bruce with her glove._

"_Alright," Grant chuckled, stepping out of the ring, "But take it easy on him."_

_Bruce could tell the girl hadn't given the Champ much of a choice. Seems he didn't have one either. And now she was going to pummel him senseless because of it and by the big smile on her face, she was going to enjoy it, too._

"_Remember, kid, hands up," Grant hollered at him, "Strong defense and when ya see yer opening, take it!"_

_The girl threw a punch, but Bruce dodged it._

"_This one's fancy," she said, then threw a quick jab. Then, another._

_Both jabs connected, but carried nowhere near the level of power behind one of Grant's punches._

"_Has a hard head, too," she added._

"_Quit yer yapping, Kyle, and focus," Grant barked. "Kid, don't be afraid to go after her."_

_Bruce threw a right hook just like Grant had showed him a few hours earlier. It hit the side of her head making her smile disappear. Obviously, the girl did not like it. Her eyes went wide for a second and he realized they were a lovely warm brown, darker than he first thought though. Those brown eyes then narrowed to slits and the next thing Bruce knew, he was lying on the mat staring up at the ceiling again._

…

The chatter from inside the hall nearly drowned out the orchestra, still a few notes managed to reach them outside on the balcony.

Selina Kyle. He'd never known her full name then. Never knew much of about her, really. He had the resources to look her up, but chose not to.

She cocked her head to the side, an amused grin overtaking her lips. Her smile as lovely as ever. Wisps of brown hair flowed along her cheek and Bruce had the sudden urge to reach for the dark tendrils. She looked different. The same and yet so very different…

…

"_I think I killed him, Ted."_

_She didn't sound too concerned, however._

"_Nah, he's fine," Grant said, jumping into the ring, "Aren'tcha, kid?"_

"_Y-Yes," Bruce managed to say, but when he tried to sit up, the whole gym spun and he felt like he was going to be sick._

"_Hey, any mess ya make, yer cleaning up. Gym rules."_

_Bruce's dazed gaze traveled from the Champ to the girl. They were both looking down at him with the same haughty expression; it was obvious neither thought he'd manage to get up. His traitorous body seemed to agree with them._

_But something inside him kept fighting, urged him on. Bruce closed his eyes for a second and willed himself up. However, that only got him so far. He sat on the mat with his knees pulled up and his arms draped over them. That's when the girl did something he didn't expect. She took off her gloves and offered her hand._

"_Ya surprised me, kid," the Champ said, jumping out of the ring, "For that, ya can come back tomorrow." The door slammed shut behind him as he disappeared into his office._

_Bruce removed his gloves and took the girl's hand._

"_Didn't hurt you too bad, did I?" she asked as she helped him up._

_Being knocked down was bad enough, he wasn't going to admit to being in any pain._

_"I'm fine."_

_She cocked her head to the side as she watched him. The piercing gaze made him feel uncomfortable._

"_Someone picking on you?"_

"_What? No." Her question took him by surprise. Why would she think that?_

"_Someone take your girl away?" she smiled, "Or wants to?"_

_Rachel's face flashed in his mind's eye. He remembered the slap outside Falcone's. It stung, but not nearly as much as the disappointment in her eyes. She'd said his father would be ashamed… Rachel was ashamed, too, he knew. But…he didn't want to think about Rachel or anything else except this._

"_No," he replied._

"_So, then, why are you here?" the girl asked him._

"_Kyle," the Champ was suddenly standing ringside. Bruce hadn't heard him leave his office, "Leave 'im alone. Ya should be cleaning up, not messing with the new kid."_

"_I wasn't messing with him," she rolled her eyes dramatically. Then she stepped close to Bruce and hooked her arm around his. "Back me up," she whispered while out loud added, "Right?"_

"_Uh, yes," Bruce agreed, but other words failed him as his mouth suddenly went dry. His body was on fire at every point where her body made contact with his. The soft, damp skin of her hand against his bicep, her right breast against the outside of his left arm…_

_She smelled…he couldn't explain her scent. The mixture of her perfume and her workout was more enticing than anything he could have ever imagined. The perspiration along her collar bone, her shoulders and chest made her skin glisten. He could hardly look away._

_It wasn't until he heard the Champ chuckle that Bruce managed to tear his gaze away from her. He might have blushed, he's not sure. It was ludicrous. He was far from being a kid and yet he was acting like one because of a beautiful girl._

…

Selina…Kyle… She was just as stunning now as when she first knocked him down in that old ring. Perhaps more so.

Yet, Bruce knew there was something wrong about standing so close to her. When had he moved closer? Had she? He couldn't think straight. For a moment he was that young kid again, tempted, drawn to her… Even if he'd wanted to distance himself, he couldn't tear himself away. There was this connection between them. Something he couldn't explain, something that had a lot to do with what happened that night he met her.

…

"_How do we clean up?" Bruce asked clearing his throat and moving away from her._

"_We'll start with the floor," she replied and jumped out of the ring._

_They'd mopped it up, then washed the ring clean, and finally did the windows._

_Bruce glanced at her from time to time and mimicked her movements. He understood cleaning, in theory, but had never engaged in the practice. His arms were sore, more from that than the actual boxing, and he wondered how Alfred managed to keep the Manor so spotless._

_Alfred. What had Rachel told him? What must he be thinking?_

_Bruce wondered if he should call and quickly settled against it._

"_I think it's done."_

_The girl was standing next to him._

"_That window?" she pointed, "It's about as clean as it's gonna get."_

"_Thanks," he said absently. Too many thoughts were running through his head. Alfred. Rachel. He couldn't help but picture the disappointed looks on their faces. Then there was Falcone's smug expression. Joe Chill's…right before the blonde woman shot him… Bruce blinked hard. He looked up at the girl. "Are we done?" he asked. He wanted to get away from it all, away from himself._

"_Yeah, c'mon, let's put this stuff back in the closet."_

_He followed her, his body moving on automatic pilot, his mind somewhere else. Was he really going to leave everything behind? Everyone? What was he thinking?_

"_Hey, you okay?" she asked. He looked at her and she suddenly looked so young. She couldn't be more than seventeen, eighteen maybe. In any case, she looked worried about him. "You look like you're going to hurl again."_

"_I think I might."_

_She grabbed his hand and dragged him outside._

_Bruce sagged against the wall, the cold air making him shiver and feel better all at once. He shut his eyes and took several deep breaths of the cool, night air. Could he really leave it all behind?_

_After a while he opened his eyes expecting the girl to be gone, but she was still there. Curious brown eyes watching him all the while. __Without saying anything she disappeared inside and came out with their coats._

"_You eat yet?"_

_"No," he replied as he slipped on the worn coat._

_They didn't speak as he followed her down the street. They didn't speak as they entered the small diner. She ordered two house specials once they sat down in a booth, but they didn't speak then either. __Still, Bruce enjoyed the warmth of the establishment, the relative quiet, and the surprisingly good food. He only wished his mind would let him enjoy the moment. No sooner had he felt a rare calm settle over him that he began thinking about Rachel again. Alfred. His parents. The futility of trying to avenge them… He turned to the girl, "Been boxing long?"_

_She looked up at him and smiled. She had a very pretty smile._

_"Mm, nope."_

"_Oh," he was surprised, "I just figured with your skill…"_

"_No," she shook her head, "I meant you don't get anything from me unless you give _me_ something in return."_

_Bruce wiped his mouth with the rough paper napkin. He must have looked confused because she explained._

"_Boys like you," she pointed and Bruce panicked, "You like to _know_ things, but when it's _your_ turn to share…?" She half-smirked at him and shook her head. Then, she looked out the window for what seemed like a long time. He wondered what she might be thinking given her far-away look. When she turned to him again, she said. "Tell me something. Anything." She laughed and it sounded forced. "It doesn't have to be true."_

_Bruce ransacked his brain. Nothing seemed appropriate or the kind of thing he imagined she wanted to hear._

"_I've never been on a date," he blurted out and wondered why in the world he said that. He drank from his soda to keep from having to look at her. When he was finished with it he continued avoiding her gaze._

"_I've never left Gotham," she said. Bruce turned to look at her. Her lively countenance disappeared and for a split second she looked like she might cry._

…

How strange that Selina should be there with him, in his home, so many years later. Did she know he'd been on many dates since then? Should he ask her if she ever managed to leave Gotham? She must have, she seemed like the determined kind.

Someone called his name, but he was lost in his thoughts and failed to hear. Her lovely face, those lips… There was a flash of light Bruce ignored. A pair of brown eyes captured his full attention.

…

_The waitress brought the check and placed it on the edge of the table. "I'll just leave this here," she said, "Take your time."_

_Selina stood, searched her pockets and left enough cash to cover the bill and tip. She didn't say anything as she walked out the door._

_Bruce sat in the booth wondering what to do. What could he do? He wanted to go after her, but he had no reason for it. They only just met and she had done enough already: helped him at the gym and even bought him dinner._

_Out of the corner of his eye he saw her walk past him outside the window. The waitress returned while he stirred the straw absently._

"_Does no good to fight, you know."_

_Bruce looked up at the older woman. Her smile was warm._

"_We're not… We weren't fighting," he told her. He's not sure what happened, actually. They had just been sitting there. Not talking or anything. Was that what bothered her? He grabbed his coat, jumped out of the booth, and ran out._

_Halfway down the second block he caught up to her. Bruce cleared his throat but didn't say anything. They walked side by side, but she gave no indication whether she cared or not that he was there._

"_I'm not going back home," he admitted, sounding out of breath._

_Selina stopped. He stopped, too. It wasn't quite a smile, but she looked…pleased, he decided._

_A loud noise followed by a cat scurrying past startled them. They both turned to look down the alley to see a couple of trash cans toppled over and further away a man with a knife threatening a young boy._

_Bruce could not move. A terrible chill ran through him, as though the blood in his veins had frozen solid. He didn't see when Selina left his side. Everything except the gun and the boy faded to oblivion. He was eight years old again. Frightened. Helpless. He closed his eyes and waited for the end. For the blast that startled him awake from his nightmares. For the world shattering gunshot that changed everything._

"_Hey!" he heard Selina yell. "Leave him alone!"_

_Bruce blinked, her voice bringing him back to the present. That vile, horrible gun wasn't pointed at him, no, a knife was pointed at another scared, little boy._

_The knife was turned to Selina. Without any shame, the man smiled as he looked her up and down. Bruce felt sick again. Do something, he thought. Help them._

_He looked around the alley for something he could use. There was nothing. __For a second, he regretted flinging the gun he'd taken to the court house into the river, but quickly dismissed the thought. He would never resort to that sort of weapon again. That was for cowards._

"_Think you can take me, little girl?"_

_Bruce watched aghast as Selina stepped in front of the young boy. Without taking her eyes off the knife, she whispered something to him. The young boy gave one shaky nod._

_She stood up straight. "I know I can," she grinned._

_The disgusting smile gone, the man charged towards her. Selina ducked and pushed the boy out of the way._

"_Go!" she yelled at him._

_Without looking back the boy disappeared down the alley. The man swung the knife towards Selina again. He missed, but before she could get away, he grabbed her hair and yanked her back violently._

"_You shouldn't have done that, girly!"_

_It wasn't until the blade pressed against her neck glinted brightly in the dark alley that Bruce finally moved. He ran towards them just as Selina rammed her elbow back into the man's stomach. The man stumbled back, but somehow managed to slice through the air in time to cut her._

_Selina cried out as she fell to the ground, grabbing her shoulder._

_The man stood above her and laughed. He turned to Bruce as he approached, "What, you next?" he asked just as Bruce tackled him to the ground. The knife flew out of his hand and skidded across the alley floor._

_Grant's training fresh in his mind, Bruce punched the man with everything he'd learned. Right cross, upper cut, left jab. It wasn't enough. The man remained conscious and continued to struggle underneath him._

_Everything stopped and Bruce ceased his attack. A warm sensation spread across his stomach seconds before he was shoved off hard to the ground. The man got up and disappeared down the alley the same way the boy had, but Bruce forgot all about them. With trembling hands, he grabbed at the front of his shirt. It felt wet. When he looked down he saw his palms painted red with his own blood._

_The first faint shrieks of sirens could be heard now. Selina grabbed his jacket and tried to yank him up._

_"__C'mon," she said, "The cops are coming. We gotta go."_


End file.
